Sant Pau de Segúries

The first thing you notice is the altitude. At 867 metres, Sant Pau de Segúries sits high enough for the air to feel thinner, cleaner—like someone's turned down the volume on everything except the river Ter rushing below and the cowbells echoing across the valley. This isn't one of those chocolate-box Catalan towns that appear in brochures. It's a working village where tractors outnumber tourists, and where the local bakery shuts promptly at noon on Mondays because, frankly, that's how things have always been done.

A Valley That Works for Its Living

Drive north from Ripoll on the C-151 and Sant Pau appears suddenly—stone houses scattered across a wide, flat bowl of pastureland, the church tower poking above terracotta roofs like a watchman over the valley. The road doesn't pause for quaintness. It cuts straight through, carrying timber lorries and farmers heading to Camprodon, leaving the village to get on with the business of being alive rather than merely photogenic.

That business is mostly agricultural. The meadows surrounding Sant Pau grow hay for winter feed, and you'll see modern dairy barns alongside traditional stone masias. Morning walks bring the smell of fresh manure and the sound of milking machines—authentic, yes, though perhaps not what you bargained for when you packed the hiking boots. But this is exactly why the village appeals to walkers who've done the Costa Brava circuit and want something more substantial than another medieval façade.

The river Ter, wide and shallow here, provides the village's soundtrack and its summer swimming. Locals gather at the concrete weir just downstream from the Roman bridge—nothing fancy, just deep enough for a cooling plunge after walking the Capsacosta trail. The water's cold even in July, fed by Pyrenean snowmelt, but it's cleaner than any hotel pool and there's no entry fee.

Stone, Slate and the Occasional Surprise

The parish church of Sant Pau won't dominate your Instagram feed. Its Romanesque bones have been patched and extended over centuries, leaving a sturdy stone box with a square tower that looks like it's wearing a slightly too-large hat. Inside, the surprise comes from 18th-century fresco fragments uncovered during recent restoration—naive paintings of sheep and shepherds that feel more Yorkshire chapel than Catalan basilica. The church stays open until dusk; if you're lucky, the sacristan's wife will be dusting the altar and happy to point out details most visitors miss.

Wander behind the church and you'll find the old centre proper—three narrow streets of stone houses with wooden balconies painted the deep green that seems standard issue in these parts. It's a five-minute circuit, but look up to see carved lintels dating from 1687, or down to spot the original granite gutters worn smooth by three centuries of mountain rainwater. Number 12 on Carrer Major has a balcony supported by what appears to be a Roman tombstone—nobody's quite sure, and the elderly resident will shrug if you ask. "Always been there," she'll say, which in Catalan village terms counts as definitive archaeology.

Walking the Empire's Road

The real reason to base yourself here is underfoot. The Capsacosta Roman road starts 200 metres above the village, a paved donkey track that once carried wine amphorae and legionary boots between the Pyrenean passes and Girona's forum. Today it's a half-day hike to the ruins of the ancient baths at La Costa, climbing steadily through beech forest before breaking out onto open hillside where views stretch back to the Ter valley and forward to the snow-topped Canigou massif.

After rain—and it does rain here, 1,200 mm annually—the granite slabs are treacherous. British walking groups have learned to bring poles and proper boots rather than the trainers that suffice on Camprodon's manicured paths. The effort pays off at the top, where wild thyme grows between the stones and the only sound is wind through mountain pines. Retrace your steps, or continue over the col to descend to the tiny hamlet of Tregurà, where Bar Trinxat serves plates of the local cabbage-and-potato cake that tastes exactly like your grandmother's bubble-and-squeak, only with better bacon.

October brings the Roman Hike in Costume, when locals dress as legionaries and lead walkers up the old road. It sounds naff; it's actually brilliant. The costumes come from the local theatre group (chain mail made from bottle tops, mostly), and the post-walk escudella stew—ladled from cauldrons in the village square—could fuel a minor invasion. British families camping at nearby Els Rouers plan their holidays around this weekend, drawn by the combination of historical whimsy and proper portions.

Eating Without the Performance

Don't expect tasting menus. Sant Pau feeds itself first, visitors second, which means food arrives without fanfare but with solid mountain credentials. Bar Restaurant El Pont, opposite the 14th-century bridge, does a three-course lunch for €14 that starts with escudella thick enough to stand your spoon in and finishes with crema catalana properly burnt on top. Their river trout comes grilled with almonds—mild, bone-free, acceptable even to children who'd normally push fish around the plate.

Evening options are limited to two bars, both closing by 10 pm unless there's a local fiesta. The smarter choice is to self-cater—Ripoll's Saturday market sells local sausages including bull, a peppery salami that travels well in rucksacks. The village bakery (open 7 am to 1 pm, closed Monday) makes cocas—rectangular flatbreads topped with roasted vegetables—that make perfect picnic bases for hiking days.

Wine comes from the Vall de Bianya cooperative, 20 minutes south. Their young red, sold in unlabelled bottles from behind the bar, tastes like Beaujolais with more backbone—light enough for lunch, serious enough to accompany the local lamb. A bottle costs €8 to take away; they'll rinse out a plastic water bottle if you haven't brought your own container.

When to Come, When to Stay Away

Spring arrives late at this altitude—hawthorn blossoms in May, not March—and brings the best walking weather: cool mornings, warm afternoons, wildflowers on every banking. Summer is properly hot (30 °C isn't unusual) but cools rapidly after dark; pack a fleece even in August. Autumn delivers clear days and golden beech woods, though nights drop to 5 °C by late October.

Winter is another matter. Snow arrives sporadically from December onwards, and while the main road stays open, side streets become toboggan runs. Several B&Bs close November to March; Camping Els Rouers stays open but switches off the hot water at 8 pm sharp to save on heating bills. If you're after serious snow, Camprodon's ski bus leaves from outside the church at 7 am daily—Sant Pau makes a cheaper, quieter base, provided you don't mind the 40-minute mountain drive.

The village's single ATM broke in 2022 and hasn't been replaced. The nearest cash point is 7 km back in Sant Joan de les Abadesses—drive, or thumb a lift with a farmer (it works). Cards work in the restaurant and the campsite shop, but the bakery and both bars are cash-only. Bring euros, and stock up on Sunday evening because Monday really is dead.

Sant Pau de Segúries won't change your life. It will, however, remind you what Catalan villages were like before the coach parties arrived—useful, slightly weather-worn, determinedly local. Come for the walking, stay for the silence, leave before the bakery runs out of croissants.